


Of Silence and Thievery

by osco_blue_fairy



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst and Humor, Falling In Love, Fantasy, Multi, Romance, creepy Ivan, human and nation names used because the author wanted too), long story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 18:18:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osco_blue_fairy/pseuds/osco_blue_fairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur had a voice, a good one, but it's been stolen from him and he's prepared to do everything he can to get it back.  Even traversing across the world with a bunch of lunatics with a leader who just might be his hero after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as kind of an experiment based on an idea I'd had in my head for awhile and figured I'd give it a shot, and if it turned out all right, work on this as an original work. It has now grown completely out of my control and became this sprawling mess...i don't even know.
> 
> Originally posted to Livejournal and FFN. I will be reposting chapters to this platform as I transition fully over to using AO3 as my main hub. You can follow me on tumblr at osco-blue-fairy . tumblr . com

****

**_Chapter One: Wherein Thievery Occurs and Arthur’s Day is Ruined_ **

****

            Arthur Kirkland was having a rotten day. 

First, he’d had to deal with his oldest brother that morning while trying to open his quaint little bookshop, trying and failing miserably to assure his fellow vendors that the drunk and raging man outside his shop in fact was not related to him while simultaneously trying to beat William* within an inch of his life for ruining his morning completely.  Then he’d had to deal with his youngest brother Peter, who seemed to live for knocking over his book stands and setting important receipts on fire just to see Arthur squirm.  After, there was the utter nauseating chore of actually dealing with his customers…something which he many times contemplated just forgoing completely and not selling any of his books.  He was sure he could find another way to earn his necessities…he could garden his own food perhaps…

As the day wore on things did not get much better, what with villagers now knocking over stands, his lunch overcooking (the pot was faulty…had nothing to do with him), and realizing that the supply of used books he received from a neighboring village that day had been, in fact, nothing but gross and disturbing smut.  He had a terrible headache by the time he slammed his store’s door shut that evening, wishing nothing more for the day to end and a chance that perhaps the next day wouldn’t be quite so bad.  Arthur pinched his green eyes shut before he started on the task of going through his records for the day, taking a small comfort in the silence that currently surrounded him.  When his hand began to cramp up a bit, Arthur stole a quick, furtive glance around and outside his windows, ensuring that no one was around or peeking, then took a deep breath. 

“ _Write_ ,” he murmured softly to his pen.  He let go of the quill and, instead of falling down as it should in any other case, it continued to write, the gentle scratch echoing in the quiet of his empty shop.  He glared at the pen for a moment, as if he was offended that it had actually listened to his command, before he pushed away from his register counter and made his way to the back office.

Arthur had a gift in his voice.  His family had never known exactly what to call it, and to be honest, preferred to forget its existence entirely and Arthur hadn’t ever known what to call it, but it was there and there was no changing it.  He spoke like most others in Britannia, properly and clearly with no real special reason for his voice to be different, but underneath it all, there was a power there that was more a pain than anything else. 

Of all the different countries and lands that existed, Britannia was not the best  when it came to the acceptance of anything of the mythical nature and his village of Berth was by far the worst.  Something mystical, despite what Arthur claimed to his family was nothing more than some kind of odd tick, was exactly what his voice was.  Wish for it speak for it, simple as that and it could make all sorts of things possible, such as getting your pen to write up your inventory or making sure his flower garden stayed free of weeds without much gardening effort.  Still, it didn’t do him any good to go broadcasting to any of his neighbors that he practiced witchcraft on a daily basis, even if it wasn’t _really_ witchcraft…oh bugger it all.

Arthur heaved out a deep sigh as he went about straightening his back room.  As useful as his ‘talent’ was on a day-to-day basis, Arthur supremely wished he didn’t have to deal with it.  He didn’t have the best of tempers (though he could hardly blame himself that the villagers were so idiotic they drove him to it) and his ‘voice’ did tend to unleash unwanted consequences when he was upset or particularly emotional…like when he accidental set William’s shoes on fire by speaking a few choice words in the middle of a fight.  It was hard to pass off flaming shoes as anything other than a mystical occurrence.  Arthur put away the last of his wares and focused on the small pile of dust he had collected during his cleanings.  

“ _Go_.”  The dust sparked and disappeared in a flurry of color, leaving Arthur smiling softly at the sight before he thought better of it.  If Arthur was completely honest with himself (which wasn’t often), he didn’t really mind his gift…it was dead useful and it made him feel a bit more than just another one of those ‘Kirkland brats’ the villagers seemed so fond of reminding him he was a part of.  Still…he also preferred not being burned alive which meant it was a bit of a detriment.

Arthur dusted off his hands and made his way back towards the front of his shop, sure that by now his records for the day had been completed by now.  More than anything, he wanted to grab one of his books and head upstairs to spend the rest of the evening in peace of his living quarters, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen.  He wasn’t looking forward to the weekly Kirkland dinner he was all but forced to attend that night…why did his brothers all insist on eating together when it was well known how much they hated each other?  He made a mental note to try and stop by the butchers before it closed, sure that his brothers were going to need something for dinner and they sure as hell weren’t about to get off their lazy arses for it, but the thought met an abrupt end when he walked back into the main area of his shop. 

There, holding the once writing quill in his hand, was a rather tall man with hair so pale it looked white and an oversized scarf wrapped around his neck.  Arthur froze and felt his breath quicken in panic for a moment before he narrowed his eyes and grabbed the wooden club beside his back door his third oldest brother, Patrick*, had given him as a store-opening gift (aka, his anti-theft weapon), and tried to look as menacing as possible against the giant of a man.  The man turned to face him with a child-like smile on his face and bright, violet eyes, eyes that looked at him with an interest that made Arthur’s skin crawl. 

“Good evening.”  The man’s voice was soft and gentle, at stark contrast with how big he was, which did little to ease Arthur’s apprehensions.  He knew that the quieter or friendly the supposed thief, the worse one he or she was, and if there was one thing Arthur had an in depth knowledge of as owner of his little bookshop, it was thieves and how much he loathed them. 

“Good evening my arse, get the bloody hell out of my store!”  Arthur brandished the club menacingly, his admittedly large eyebrows drawing fiercely together in his glare.  The man unfortunately did no such thing, just continued to smile creepily and stare at him.  Arthur felt a chill creep down his spine at it, feeling the very air around him seem to flicker and change.  He didn’t show his unease however, gripping the base of the club tighter and bared his teeth angrily.  He focused on the man and felt the power build behind his voice…if the man didn’t leave on his own Arthur was prepared to make him.  He may not like to use his gift in front of others, but he wasn’t about to just roll over and let the man rob him.

“I said _get ou—”_

“Your voice, it is very nice, _da_?”

Arthur froze and stared wide eyed at the man invading his bookshop, the power in his voice stopped abruptly as it had been about to be unleashed, the words choking in his throat.  In his shock, he dropped the club and his hands went up to his throat, circling around as he felt it constrict and air was stopped in his lungs.  Arthur looked up at the man who was staring at him, eyes glowing, bloody _glowing_ , and making his way closer to Arthur, who could hardly find the strength to move with those eyes pinned on him.  He tried to move away when a chilled hand wrapped around his arm, his vision going spotty with the lack of air, but only succeeded in stumbling over his own feet, which felt heavy and leaden.  Another hand wrapped around his throat, covering his hands, and tilted his head upwards to stare into those frightening violet eyes, Arthur’s panic and dread reaching a crescendo when the man’s smile widened and loomed over him.

The last thing Arthur knew was that smile…that and rather nasty bump to the head via a lead pipe.

 

*****

           

            The first thing Arthur realized when his eyes blinked open who knows how much later was that his head hurt something fierce but that he was still alive.  The second thing he realized, to his great frustration and worry, was that he was tied down by the arms to a table in his bedroom, surrounded by black candles and not far from him was the man from downstairs, eyes not glowing but still terrifying enough.  He felt sluggish and heavy and each time he tried to move his arms tied above his head; they felt as if they were stuck to the table and even though his legs weren’t tied down, he found he couldn’t even get them to budge.  The man chuckled a bit as Arthur’s slow movements caught his attention, walking around from another table set up, holding some kind of knife in his hand; Arthur did not think the situation could get much worse before, but the wickedly curved knife told him otherwise. 

“Ah, you are awake now?  You should not struggle too much, you won’t get to far, comrade.”

Arthur attempted to give the man a piece of his mind, but his voice was muffled against a cloth…and while this normal didn’t stop him, the cloth felt a bit odd, heavier than it should have been.  The man smiled and leaned in close, the blade of his knife coming with him and reflecting back Arthur’s pale reflection, moving the knife up to brush away some of Arthur’s hair.  Arthur could feel his breathing quicken and he tried to squirm back into the table, tried futilely to put some distance between him and the man.  This seemed to amuse his captor and he chuckled softly at Arthur (who normally would have scowled at this but was too preoccupied thinking he was about to be ritualistically murdered to really give it much thought).

“I have watched you for some time, Mr. Arthur, and you are special, like me.  Your voice, it can do things, _da_?  All kinds of things…I admit my own cannot compare and even my other gifts cannot command like yours.”

Arthur blinked and stared at the man in response. 

“It is a shame you must hide such a wonderful gift, a shame that it hinders you and makes you different…don’t you think?”

Arthur could feel himself begin to shake as the knife drifted down the side of his face, the tip lightly pressed to his skin, and settle against his neck.  He slowly nodded his head as the man continued to stare at him, silently commanding him to answer the question; whether he agreed or not was hardly on his mind, he just wanted to ensure he kept that knife from cutting into his throat. 

“You may not understand, but this is necessary.  You cannot use your gift…but I can.  I think you will be happier afterwards…”

Arthur mumbled pleas, curses, any string of words together behind the cloth to try and keep the huge man away from him, to keep him from coming any nearer, but it was useless.  The man’s eyes glowed again in that eerie purple glimmer and he cut the palm of Arthur’s hand with the knife, eliciting a hiss from him.  The man smiled and took up a spot standing beside Arthur’s head, placing one hand over the bleeding palm and the other untying the cloth from around his mouth and clamping a hand over it before Arthur could let out any noise.  The man mumbled on in some sort of gibberish, but all Arthur could focus on was how an odd sort of pressure began to build up in his head, through his body, in his very soul, and made it hard to focus on much of anything.  Especially not how the candles around him flamed higher or how a wind had started to swirl around him and the man the more words he spoke; and especially not how a glow formed in his throat and was slowly pulled out of him and into the man.

It was all too much for one miserable day, really, so Arthur didn’t feel too much shame in feeling the blackness of unconsciousness come back again as a ringing grew in his ears and his throat burned as if something was pulled away.  His green eyes, hazy and unfocused, began to slide shut, but not before he felt a rush of sudden stillness and could hear a voice whisper against his skin.

“I will enjoy being one with you, Mr. Arthur…”

 

*****

 

For the second time in less than a full day’s cycle, Arthur awoke to a blinding headache.

He blinked his eyes open and looked around blearily, feeling as if he’d had more than enough whiskey to get all of his brothers, and himself, drunk, and unsteadily pushed himself up from the floor beside his bed.  He was disoriented and nauseous and wondering just how much of what he thought happened the previous night was a nightmare and what was real when he looked down at his wrists.  They were raw and blistered…key features of wrists tied and restrained by rope to a table.  He looked around once more, much more alert and cautious than he had been before, looking to see if that _man_ was still around, lurking by in a corner with that bloody creepy smile. 

To his relief, there was no evidence of the menacing man anywhere, and aside from the splitting headache, the raw wrists, and the black candle wax on his floor, there was no sign that the man had ever taken Arthur hostage.  He pushed himself off the floor, feeling supremely lucky that he hadn’t been killed or violated (the man had tied him up when he had already been rendered immobile…Arthur was fairly confident that made him a pervert), and stumbled his way into his washroom.  The sun had already risen, which meant he was late in opening his shop, but he could hardly find it within himself to care…he was fairly sure any of his more prized books had been stolen last night.

He glanced at his wan reflection briefly before he splashed some cold water on his face, mentally promising to ream his no good siblings for being absolutely no help to him.  He obviously hadn’t shown up for their weekly dinner and not even a whisper of help sent his way to see if anything was amiss…no good arseholes.  He rubbed at his eyes and toweled off his face of moisture and then he saw it.  He dropped the towel down to the floor and looked closely at the thin but intricate band going across his neck, a vivid red against his pale skin.  He gingerly touched; he flinched when it burned against his fingers.  He felt something cold settle in his stomach as he stared at the band, the man’s words from the night before etching themselves into his memory before he worked up the courage to try and say something.

Nothing sounded but air. 

Arthur stared at his reflection and tried again.  He tried to laugh, he tried to scream, he tried to say anything at all but nothing escaped, not even the terrified gasp as his hands encircled his voiceless throat despite the burn.  He hurried out of his washroom made his way downstairs to his shop, uncaring that he was still dressed in his clothes from the day before, looking for anything telling the violet-eyed man may have left behind.  There was nothing and he felt himself begin to panic slightly. 

That man, that fiend, he had _stolen_ his damn voice! 

_All right, all right, calm down old boy…I’m sure this can be fixed.  A good healer or apothecary must have some kind of potion or…or…oh fucking hell, who am I kidding?_

Arthur took a couple of deeps breaths to clear his head, to replace his fear with righteous indignation, and stomped out of his shop, ignoring the morning greetings the other villagers inanely shouted his way.  He wouldn’t have responded even if he could so there was no worry that there’d be anything amiss.  He half contemplated going straight to William’s pub and explaining (through writing of course) all of what had transpired, but considering it was nearing noontide, his brother was surely well and shit-faced by this hour and would be no help.  So, with a determination most probably would not have in such a situation, he stomped his way to the local constabulary.  He had been stolen from after all, it was only logical he informed the authorities. 

However, in his angered and confused and possibly still disoriented state, he forgot a very important fact about his kingdom; how much they loathed anything mystical (which he really should have remembered, considering he had been attacked and stolen from for BEING mystical in a sense).  Instead, he had stormed into the low leveled building and scribbling angrily and gesturing at his throat, writing down a detailed description of the man who had attacked him, what had happened, and the like, thrusting the bits of paper in the guards’ faces after he was finished.  One of the burliest guards, who was undoubtedly the leader, read the papers and then looked at Arthur before he gestured to the smaller man.

“You ‘’eard’ ’im men, bring ’im out.”

Instead of beginning their deliverance of justice, they grabbed Arthur roughly by the arms and hauled him outside, the large guard calling out for the folks of Berth to gather in the town square.  Arthur felt a brief moment of sheer disbelief as he was paraded down the cobbled streets that this, _this_ , on top of everything else he had been put through was actually happening.  He could hear the whispers as he was tugged along, and he could see how they all pointed at his neck, the red markings which stood out even brighter in the sun. 

“Did you see those, Bernice?”

“Cursed, the poor boy’s been cursed!”

“The color of blood they are…dangerous…”

Arthur was brought to a halt in the center of the village, a crowd of villagers surrounding him and the guards.  The lead guard strode forward some time later, the village’s mayor striding alongside with a pinched and carefully constructed mournful expression on his face.  The man, a sort that looked as if he had consumed too much wine in his youth and had a permanently ruddy face as a result, tilted Arthur’s chin up, looking closely at the red markings but not moving to touch them; he utterly ignored Arthur’s voiceless curses and pleas (though the pleas were not as numerous as the curses).  He looked back up, and gave Arthur a sad look, one which the dirty-blond haired man was purely for show and made him want to punch it clear off, and shook his head before he turned to face the crowd.

Arthur tuned most of what was said out.  It was all generally about how it was unfortunate, a terrible tragedy, that Arthur had been attacked and cursed by a malignant sorcerer, but how they had to keep the greater good of the village in mind.  That Arthur was cursed now, and marked so that whatever stole his voice originally could return and take him back whenever he wished and maybe even cause untold damage to the rest of the village.  He was cursed, voiceless, and marked and it would be a mercy to just put him out of his misery. 

He scanned the crowd to see if any of his siblings, utter gits they may be but still his family, were there, might speak in his defense or suggest that instead of outright killing him they could always just banish him…banishment was all right, at least one still breathed.  None were though…and with a shuddering sigh that no one could hear, Arthur knew that if they were informed, they likely wouldn’t do anything.  He’d always been ‘touched’ with his voice…the one who could be a danger.  This was their way to finally be rid of the one thing that could damn their family. 

The walk back to the guards’ building was equally somber, people following, some crying and all murmuring what a shame it was that such a young man had befallen to such a fate.  Arthur wanted to do nothing more than tell them all exactly what he thought about their fucking platitudes , but alas, he could not speak, so he settled for glowering at them quite balefully (his large eyebrows furrowed quite menacingly you see).  The crowd, unfortunately, was too busy acting sad for him and feeling relieved that someone tainted by magic would soon be take care of (for his ‘voice’ hadn’t really been the best kept secret…his brother tended to blabber when drunk, which was often), to notice though.  They dispersed as Arthur was herded into the building and subsequently led down into the dank dungeons reserved for dangerous criminals. 

As Arthur was locked into a cell, he made a silent vow that he was going to make it is personal business to find that violet-eyed giant and serve as his personal poltergeist as long as he could.  He sank down to the floor and pulled up his knees, resting his head on them as he fought with himself to not suffer an emotional breakdown on top of everything else.  Yesterday, just yesterday his life had been set, somewhat boring and mundane, but set nonetheless.  And now…Arthur looked around for a moment and gave a silent, rueful laugh at how much had changed in such little time.  Now he was going to die for something he had no control over and there wasn’t a thing he could to help him…how could you argue for your life without a voice?  Oh yes, once he was dead, he was going to hunt down that bastard and haunt him until his eerie eyes bled! 

It was a small comfort that his small cries and shakes were silent as well.

 

*****

 

The fitful ‘last night sleep’ he had been having (he had since started referring to everything in his head as ‘last time’ terms) was rudely interrupted when Arthur was awoken by several very loud, very obnoxious voices.  He narrowed his eyes in confusion at the door of his cell, wondering in a sleep-addled manner just who the hell would be traipsing down the corridor of a prison in the middle of night, knowing that the guards had all left for home hours before.  He pushed himself to his feet slowly, eyes trained on the door as the voices drifted closer and closer.

“—know is your damn ‘vision’ led us here so _you_ can damn well come on the patrol!”  That speaker was loud and self-assured, speaking with a swagger that clearly thought highly of himself.

“You wound me, Gilbert, making a poor, blind man traverse these ’orrible smelling—” A cultured and accented voice which immediately Arthur felt himself disliking for some reason.

“If you both don’t shut up I’m going to run you both through!”  That was a woman, her voice also was accented but it had a pleasant lilt on the vowels.

“Come on guys, let’s cool it all right?  He’s gotta be around here somewhere…let’s see, oh!  Definitely here, this one’s locked!”

Arthur froze as the door, which was very heavy and very metal, was pounded on fiercely, twice, before it flung open wide and a bright light flooded his dark-accustomed vision, outlining the four figures in light.  When Arthur blinked away the harshness and opened his eyes, he was met with the bluest pair of eyes he’d ever seen, belonging to a tall young man with golden hair, a handsome face, and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.  He was the kind of boy that young women and men did crazy things over and he was smiling a perfect smile at Arthur.

“Arthur Kirkland, right?”

“Well who the else could it be, hero?”  The self-assured and cocky voice belonged to an equally cocky looking man with white blond hair and red eyes.  “Not like there are a lot of scruffy little guys down here.”

“Are his eyebrows as large as I saw?”  The remaining male voice belonged to a man with long, blond hair, which he kept sweeping elegantly from his face, and a horrible looking goatee.  His eyes were also blue but they were unfocused and had a light film covering them…he was blind.  Arthur, however, felt no pity for the man as he had just insulted his eyebrows and justified his instant disliking as stated previously. 

“Shut up, Frances, it’s not the time.”  The woman was shorter than the men but nearly as tall as Arthur was, with a long, dark braid that spilled down her back and olive skin which complemented her dark eyes.  She was beautiful in a dangerous sort of way, like a wild cat or wolf might be. 

“Guys, chill out, you’re freaking him out.”  The young man shot them all a disgruntled look before smiling back at him like Arthur was some sort of skittish colt.  “Hey, no worries, they’re all cool…so, you’re Artie Kirkland right?”

Artie…he hated the name Artie. 

He scowled and swatted the hand coming near him away, opening his mouth and fully intending to let these four have a piece of his mind, when all that came out was air…which immediately made him sullen again.  He didn’t really take into account how much he had insulted people and how much he really relied on it to defend himself until now.  The young man’s smile abruptly changed at the sight of Arthur’s failed attempts to speak and he leaned in closer, tilting up Arthur’s chin before the shorter man could move away.  Arthur heard a knowing set of hisses and grunts as the red band came into view, but he was mainly focused on how warm and positively delightful the young man’s broad, calloused hand felt against his cold skin.  Arthur inhaled sharply at the thought and pulled away quickly, resting his back against the stone wall, admonishing himself for the completely unnecessary thought (there was already enough going on, he didn’t need to add _this_ too).

“Well, looks like you were a little late there, Frances.”

“’Ow was I to know that Ivan would attack so soon?  My Sight is not what it was, you know, _mon ami_.”  Arthur noticed that Frances spoke very slowly and looked directly at Gilbert when he responded.

“At least he’s not dead, others were not so lucky…he must have had something Ivan wanted…”

Arthur scowled deeper as they spoke about him as if he wasn’t present; just because his voice was gone didn’t mean he couldn’t hear, the daft fools.  He pointed at his throat angrily and made several sarcastic attempts to speak, demonstrating what exactly was missing. 

“We know he took your voice, Artie, we just want to know why.”  The young man was still smiling but it was harder and not nearly as friendly, clearly not focusing his attention any longer on Arthur…Arthur ignored the little wilt of disappointment he felt at that.  “Anyhow, first things first, we gotta get you outta here!  You do know they want to execute you, right?”

“I think he’s fully aware Alfred, it’s not as if he’s deaf like Gilly.”  The dark skinned woman flashed Arthur a bright almost feral grin before she whirled out of the room with her curved sword in hand, winking at Gilbert as she passed.

“Even though I can’t hear you, I know when you’re talking about me, Esther*,” the man quipped after her.  “Just awesome like that.”  He flashed Arthur a cocky grin before he pulled out a long sword and headed out the door after the woman, Esther, looking quite eager to start hacking anyone who might get in his way.  The other man, Frances gave a flourished wave and followed after, moving with more surety and confidence than Arthur thought a blind man should have.  The young man, Alfred, looked at him expectantly while he bounced impatiently on the balls of his feet, flashing Arthur a grin.

“Well, you gonna come with us…or would you rather get your head cut off?  I know you probably don’t trust us, that you don’t know us, and you probably don’t even know what’s going on but I can tell you that _we_ do.  The guy who took your voice, we’re tracking him down and we’d be more than happy to let you join in.  You probably got a bunch of questions and astuff too, but we can answer those later…right now, I want to know if you wanna bust outta here or not?”

Arthur weighed his choices briefly.  True, he did not know these people and by all accounts they seemed to be a group of dangerous lunatics and were talking about leaving the only home he’d ever really known, but still…they seemed to not only know what had happened to him but also who the violet-eyed man was who did it to him.  That, and apparently they were offering to save him from the chopping block; it wasn’t a hard decision, really.  He gave Alfred a firm nod and followed him out of the cell and out of the guard house where Francis was waiting for them, motioning for them to both be silent (which Arthur did not appreciate).  The white-haired Gilbert was further up the road, scouting and motioning for the others to follow while Esther was farthest ahead, her sword glittering dangerously in the moonlight. 

They continued in this vein for some time and Arthur started to feel a thread of hope that maybe he could sneak out of the village without incident…but as they made their way nearly halfway across the village and a dog (who had obviously been tailing them for some time in his dog-like fashion) ran up and tackled Gilbert with a large bark, he felt he really should have known better by this time.  Gilbert swore angrily and loudly, most likely because he couldn’t hear how loud he truly was, which of course alerted anyone within a one mile vicinity and then, out they poured, villagers and guards alike (though as they were all in night clothes it was hard to distinguish who was who)  all calling out what was happening. 

“Get going!” Alfred yelled, giving Arthur a healthier-than-normal shove that nearly sent him flying forward.  Francis grabbed Arthur’s wrist and dragged him along, weaving and dodging as if he had two perfectly working eyes while Alfred punched the ground, literally punched the ground, which then seemed to cause a mini earthquake.  Arthur blinked a few times as he watched the young man stand up and smile, shaking his hand off while he followed them at a run. 

Gilbert pushed off the beefy dog and took off at a sprint to where Esther was waiting for them at the edge of the village, steadying five black horses and calling for them all to hurry up, slapping her horse’s rump for emphasis.  They were ahead of the villagers, who all seemed much too intent on getting Arthur back so they could execute him right and proper than seemed fair, but Arthur knew that with the time it would take for them to mount the horses and get going, their lead wouldn’t mean much.  He had just about had it.  He stopped running and yanked his arm out of Francis’ hold and stomped back towards the stampeding villagers, ignoring Alfred’s look that clearly said he did not understand what the shorter man was doing.

The past day had been wretched.  Nothing had gone right at the store that day, his brothers were prats, his voice had been stolen by a mad man, and he’d been condemned to death and now wouldn’t even get the chance to pay back that giant bastard since the villagers were complete morons.  He didn’t have a voice and there wasn’t much he could without it, but he did have his anger and that was enough.  He screamed at them silently, screamed all his anger, all his frustration, all his uncertainty and how he just wanted to be left the hell alone and then, funnily enough, each and every one of the villagers were halted and thrown backwards by a huge gale of wind that swept by Arthur but moved nothing more than the hair on his head.

He inhaled deeply to catch his breath after he was finished (because even if you couldn’t hear his scream didn’t mean he hadn’t done it and now he was quite out of breath), still angry and shaking as he glared at the villagers mouthing one word before he turned back around and made his way to the waiting horses. 

_Stay._

And sure enough, they did, pushing themselves up only to have their limbs give out and send them back to the ground.  It was only once he got to the waiting horses and mounted that the anger started to fade that realized that his odd little tick, the whole reason that man had attacked him in the first place, was still there, buried deep within. 

The others mounted and nudged their horses into a gallop, each of them looking at him with varying degrees of interest; Arthur had to look away quickly when Alfred’s eyes zeroed in on him, feeling a rush of heat flood his cheeks.  Oh bollocks, this was just ridiculous...he did NOT need this at the moment. 

“Well, guess we know _why_ Braginski went after him…guy’s got a set of powerful pipes, don’t he?  Don’t you worry, Artie, we’ll fill you in on everything once we get back.”

Alfred didn’t say anymore about where or what ‘back’ was, but Arthur couldn’t find it within himself to question it.  The weight of everything that had happened to him in the past day and a half had finally started to come to fruition and he simply felt too drained to care.  He was alive for now and surrounded by a group who at least seemed to understand what had happened and who had attacked him…that was enough for now.  No, for now he was just going to go with it…and try hard to not stare into perfect blue eyes of course. 

Lady, it was going to be a long day…


	2. An Introduction of a Most Unusual and Daft Band

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur had a voice, a good one, but it's been stolen from him and he's prepared to do everything he can to get it back. Even traversing across the world with a bunch of lunatics with a leader who just might be his hero after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re-post of chapter 2
> 
> Human names of countries posted at the bottom

Arthur blinked open his eyes and was somewhat surprised to find himself not on the back of a horse, but in a bed within a small room that looked very much like the inside of a ship. Sure enough, there was a splash of water and the sound of seagulls outside his little porthole; Arthur rose from the bed and rubbed his eyes sleepily as looked outside. He looked around the small, but homely-fashioned room while his sleep-fogged mind caught up with the rest of him, yawning once and loudly…well, it would have been if he had a voice.   

He blinked again, this time more in the fashion of someone who had just been slapped, and swore silently to himself (which was really just to go through the motions of swearing…not like he could hear it).  That’s right, he’d had his voice stolen, almost been executed, and been ‘rescued’ by an unusual group of potential felons.  He must have fallen asleep on the horse (he’d had a very trying few days, it could be excused)…and now he was on a ship.  He could only hope he hadn’t been rescued to only become part of an illegal slave ring…but if he had it would’ve just figured.  With that thought, he flopped back down on the bed, frowning slightly at the wood planks above him. 

For a few moments, Arthur did nothing but stare up at the ceiling, his mind racing over the facts that not only would he likely never return home (he was quite sure the story of how he flattened out a whole angry mob would’ve reached mythic proportions in little under a week) and most likely never see his family again.  Granted, they weren’t the closest of siblings, and really only tolerated each other now in memory of their departed parents, but still…they were his brothers.  William, Rhys*, Patrick, and Peter…he wondered if they’d even miss him.  Probably not.  They’d likely already torn down his bookshop and converted it into another pub; he sniffed silently and told himself that they could do whatever they bloody liked with it (and he certainly wasn’t the least bit sad over this…). 

He was without a home…without a place to return to after this (should he even survive) was all taken care of and he had his voice back.  He sighed silently and pushed himself up and out of bed; wallowing in self-pity certainly wasn’t going to help anyone, least of all himself.  Time to pull himself up by his bootstraps…it was all he could do.   

He looked down at himself and the now very dirty clothes he’d been wearing for at least two days and wrinkled his nose a bit…he was a very clean person and him being ostracized from his home country and left voiceless and potentially homeless wasn’t going to change that.  However, his eyes caught on a folded pile of clean if plain clothing, resting on a chair beside the bed.  He didn’t waste his time mentally debating whether the clothes were for him or not, quickly changing into the dark brown pants and the tan and green tunic and jerkin provided.  He pulled on his boots and strode out of the room, not bothering to attempt to flatten his unruly hair (it was a pointless pursuit he had decided long ago), and made his way up the ship.

He met with no one as he wandered the halls of the ship, which was a tad worrying considering all that had happened, but after a few flights of stairs, he heard activity and saw sunlight filtering through one of the doors.  Steeling himself, he pushed the door open and stepped out onto the deck, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight, eyes squinting around as he noticed people, man and women alike, bustling about the deck.  Some, he noticed, were very old, which struck him as odd since the life of a sailor was no easy feat he’d come to understand (from his many books of course).  Some paused to glance at him, but for the most part, he wandered about without hindrance…security was awful, he thought belatedly.

“Artie!” Arthur cringed and frowned in annoyance at the nickname, turning around to face the young man, Alfred, from the rescue mission.  “Nice to see you’re awake and welcome aboard the _Evangeline_!  We got kinda worried when he slumped over on the horse, but Esther said you’d been through a lot and be happy you didn’t throw up or anything.  How ya feeling?”

Arthur stared for a moment, cursing any and all gods who made those eyes so damn blue, before he shook his head and glared, motioning once more to his throat.  He gestured to the boat and then to himself, silently, but very clearly, asking where he was and what the hell had happened.  Alfred blinked at him for a few moments before he sighed dramatically and wrapped an arm around Arthur’s slim shoulders.  Arthur felt his face heat up and he attempted to struggle out of the hold (before he well and did something truly embarrassing…or harmful), but the boy’s hold as strong and steadfast as his smile.

“Sorry, I can’t figure out a thing you’re trying to say…but I know who might help us out with that!”  Alfred smiled brightly at him before he steered Arthur along the ship’s prow, calling out to the various crew with a cheery wave and greeting.  “Don’t worry, I’ll introduce ya to everyone later!  They’re all here for the same reason you are.”

Arthur motioned at his throat, sardonically of course, as Alfred maneuvered them around a very tall, large, mocha skinned man who was smoking steadily on a cigar, messy black hair pulled back into a ponytail. 

“No, but Braginski’s stolen something or other from either them or someone they knew…you’re not the only one who wants revenge.  Now, in we go…”

Braginski…Ivan Braginski.  So, that’s who had attacked him; Arthur felt a flash of hot anger run through him as he remembered that child-like smile a eerie purple eyes.  He growled silently and tightened his hands into fists beside his hips…he was going to make Ivan Braginski rue the day he had ever stepped into Arthur’s bookshop.  He damn well guaranteed it!

Arthur was steered back inside the ship on the upper deck where the captain’s quarters no doubt was located, along with the navigation room, but they continued on down the hall until they reached a small room with a young man with shoulder length black hair seated inside.  Well, young man was somewhat of a generalization…seeing as the young ‘man’ had the ears and tail of a black fox.  Arthur knew he shouldn’t stare…especially when the man turned and fixed pale eyes on him and Alfred…yet he couldn’t seem to stop himself. 

“Artie, this is Kiku Honda, our medic on board!  Kiku, meet Artie, our newest addition!”

The fox-man, Kiku, stood up and bowed politely, smiling in gentle, diplomatic manner.  “Good day, Igirisu-san.  I have heard about your misfortunes and apologize for your loss.”

Arthur inclined his head in acknowledgement before Alfred leaned forward, a confuse look on his face.  “‘Igirisu?’  His name is Artie man…”

Kiku nodded and smiled at Alfred.  “It is a name for the land he is from for my people.  I had not yet known his name, I apologize for the confusion.”  Kiku turned back towards Arthur and inclined his head.  “I know of your people’s hesitancy towards those of a, ah different nature…it must have been difficult, living with a gift such as yours.”

Arthur shrugged his shoulders noncommittally.  He certainly hadn’t known any of these people (or foxes as it were…) long enough to start sharing his life story. 

“Am I correct in thinking that Alfred-san brought you here so I could help you with your communication issue?”  Arthur nodded while Alfred wandered off a bit, poking at an odd assortment of plants on resting along the windowsill.  “Then I think you’ll be pleased to know I have already acquired something that will help you, here, Arthur-san.”

Arthur took the sleek, black board from Kiku’s outstretched hands, admiring the shiny and smooth black stone the tablet seemed to be made of, taking a bright orange quill from the fox-man as well.  He looked at both for a moment before he looked back up at Kiku with a question on his face.  He didn’t know how he was supposed to write on a black stone without any ink…

Kiku smiled again and took Arthur’s wrist holding the quill and made a swiping motion across the black tablet, leaving an arc of fiery, orange light in its wake that lingered on awhile…certainly long enough for someone to read what he wrote.  The bright light caught Alfred’s attention and he hurried back over, watching with a wide smile as Arthur experimented with the quill a bit.  Arthur felt a small smile tug at his lips at the sight…just a small one though, barely noticeable. 

“That’s awesome, Artie!  I told you Kiku would have just what you needed!”  Alfred grinned widely while Kiku simply nodded in silent thanks.  Arthur frowned and scribbled on his pad before thrusting it in the young man’s face.

 **It’s Arthur, you obnoxious idiot.** Looking at the offended look that crossed Alfred’s face, Arthur felt better already.

*****

 

            Arthur did not feel comfortable with everyone staring at him, and by everyone he meant everyone…somehow Alfred had squashed every single crew member into the navigation room, but he supposed it couldn’t be helped.  Alfred had insisted on introducing Arthur to the whole ship at once after they had left Kiku’s office, the fox-man trailing behind him (who Arthur learned was from an Eastern tribe of other Fox-people who preferred to be referred to as Kitsunes in Common tongue that lived in a country called Japan…which Arthur had only vaguely heard of), despite Arthur’s wishes.

“It won’t be bad, Iggy,” Alfred had winked at him.  Which of course triggered a blush (and a scathing, written insult for calling him ‘Iggy’…hadn’t he just written that his name was Arthur?), which made Kiku smile at him in an annoyingly knowing fashion.  Now, here he was, standing beside the tall young man and clutching his black tablet to his side, looking at all the curious faces staring back at him.

“Everyone, this is Arthur!  He’ll be joining us in hunting down Braginski, the bastard stole his voice.  Arthur, this is everyone!”  Alfred swept his hand grandly at all the faces before he hooked an arm around his shoulders (yet again…it was really starting to become a nuisance because every time the young man did, it made Arthur’s skin heat up and his heart race), and walked him around to say hello to the group of people waiting.  First up was a very pretty woman who was looking him over with one dark brown eye critically, two dark braids falling on either side of her very tan face.  She had a leather patch over where her other brown eye should be staring at him.

“First off, I’d like to introduce our lovely captain, Seychelles*, who kindly lets us sail all around the world all in hopes she gets the chance to take one of Braginski’s eyes in revenge for him taking one of hers!”  The woman, who was really more of a girl to be completely honest, as she looked around Alfred’s age, inclined her head and offered Alfred a fierce smile.

“Nice to have you on board, could always use an extra pair of hands.  Al seems to think you could be useful.”  Seychelles gave him a smirk and flounced away, barking out orders a group of burly men, who were obviously her original crew prior to having her eye stolen.  Arthur gave Kiku a questioning look (because he had proven to be much more reliable than Alfred) as to why someone would steal an eye from a woman.

“She had the fortunate birthright of having one eye act much like an internal compass…she was unparalleled in navigation among captains, most likely why Ivan targeted her in the first place”

Arthur nodded, deciding it was just best to go along, even if the idea of a ‘compass eye’ was a little too much to comprehend, turning his attention to Francis, one of his ‘rescuers’ from the previous night.  The man still looked arrogant and vain, running a hand through his long blond hair and leering at Arthur with unseeing eyes.

“This is Francis, you remember him right?”

Arthur nodded tersely and tried his best not to frown…it wasn’t kind to mock the disabled, his mother had always said.  Francis gave a put upon sigh and wrapped an arm around Arthur, tugging him away from Alfred and winking at him in a highly inappropriate manner.  “Yes, I know you can see, and yes, I am blind.  I ’ave always ’ad the gift of Sight, glimpsing the future and all its wonders, but that man, he stole it from me.  It is tragic, _non_?”

“Luckily for him, he can still see the future every now and then…which does help him walk around without bumping into stuff.”  Alfred tugged Arthur out of Francis’ arms with a small frown.  Arthur scowled and shrugged his arm off as well.  He was NOT some sort of child or plaything…even if he did rather enjoy the feel of Alfred’s warm arms.  Still, it was the principle of the fact.  “And this here is Gilbert.  He’s deaf but can lip read pretty good so you two should get along just fine!”

Gilbert grinned cockily and leaned against the large, oval shaped table in the room.  “Used to be the best damn hunter in all of Germania, could hear a boar from a mile away, or the whistle of another man’s arrow halfway across a forest…but I guess my awesomeness was too much for ol’ Creepy Smile to ignore.”

“Esther, who you’ve met as well.”  Alfred motioned to the fierce woman from the night before.  She nodded at him but did no more in welcome, returning her attention back to polishing her large, curved sword.  Alfred shrugged at Arthur is response to the woman’s lack of response.  “Braginski stole her speed…she can still move pretty quick, just not as quick as before, but she never forgets to remind us how painfully slow we all are.” 

Arthur smirked slightly in response as Alfred laughed, pointedly ignoring Esther’s glare, which was enough to make most grown men whimper in fear.  Alfred gestured to a pair in the room, a short young man and an old woman beside him.    

“And this is Vash, our weapons master, and his little sister Lily*…”

Arthur had a hard time working his head around the fact that the young, scowling blond man dressed in green was the older brother of the withered and ancient looking woman beside him with two long, white braids down her wrinkled face.  However, upon closer inspection, Arthur noticed that the woman’s green eyes were not the eyes of a grown woman but that of a child, innocent and full of life.  The slight, young man, Vash, nodded tersely, his face drawn together in what looked like a permanent scowl, one good enough to give Arthur’s a run for his money, while the old woman, girl, smiled sweetly.

“Braginski steals more than just talent…he steals life as well.  Lily here is really a twelve-year old girl.”  Alfred’s eyes held sadness as he looked at the girl for a moment before he gave Arthur a more serious of looks.  “We’re all after Braginski because he stole something from us, something he wanted and something we want back.  Alejandro*, the big one there with the ponytail, Braginski stole his fire-breath, he stole Kiku’s sense of smell which is a lot like his people’s eyesight, and he took Rosa’s*, the little brown one back there, he took her smell too…she could smell magic; used to be really useful where she lived…they didn’t care much for magic, she was like their hunting dog!”

The petite, dark skinned woman with green-flecked brown eyes scowled prettily at Alfred and began to no doubt swear (Arthur was quite good at knowing when others were insulting…it was all in the voice) at him, but Alfred looked unaffected.  Arthur was beginning to think that the man was either just too much of an arrogant git to care or he was too dense to notice…either way, it was a very convincing reason for Arthur to tell himself that he just thought the man was attractive.  Precisely, nothing beyond that…

“—and now you.”  Arthur focused his attention back on Alfred, who was still speaking…and striking a rather ridiculous pose.  Arthur snuck a glance around and the others present just seemed used to this behavior, rolling their eyes lazily or simply ignoring the blond man completely.  “He took your voice because it had power right?  We saw what you could still do…you say it and it happens.  We can’t help you return home or anything, but we can help you hunt the bastard down, so whaddya say?”

Arthur looked around briefly as all eyes turned to him (even blind ones) before he huffed and scribbled fiery orange words on his black tablet.  **First off, who the bloody hell is Ivan Braginski?**

“A sorcerer of some type…maybe even a necromancer,” Kiku replied calmly.  “He appeared some years ago and has been stealing different abilities and youth from all over the worlds…nearly every nation has been affected in some fashion.  Why though, is uncertain beyond each new ability he steals increases his power.”

“All that matters is that he’s a damn thief and needs to be taught that stealing is bad.”  Gilbert grinned darkly at the group, chuckling to himself as he twirled a knife against the oval table.  “Very bad.”

“I agree,” Esther hissed.  Her dark eyes flashed in anger and she rose from her seat, fixing Arthur with a look that basically told him what he’d be if he didn’t agree to go hunting with them (not that he wasn’t considering it…he just wanted a better idea of what exactly he’d pledged vengeance against is all).  “He will continue to steal and harm if he is not stopped, how many more children will suffer Lily’s fate, how many more of us will have something that is ours alone taken from us without mercy?”

“So dramatic, _mon cher_ , I could care less for the ‘untold’ others…I simply would like my Sight returned.”

“And that is why you are an unmitigated pig, Francis.”

“You do wound me, _cheri_.”  Esther rolled her eyes in disgust at Francis’s leer and purring words; Arthur couldn’t blame her really. 

“Guys, not helping our image here!” Alfred frowned at the group before he turned back towards Arthur, a wide, pleading smile on his face that promptly made Arthur forget for a moment that the young man was an obnoxious ass.  “So, how about it?  I mean, at the very least you won’t get weird looks because you can’t talk or anything…”

Arthur glanced around at the very motley crew once more, sighing to himself before he wrote down his response.  It wasn’t really like he had much of a choice…sail around with a group of people who knew what had happened to him and were working on reversing it or being dropped off in some other nation and hoping for the best in being cursed the rest of his life.  Honestly, how many of these people had really said no?  He gave them all a very determined look as he showed them his answer, smirking slightly at the whoop he received in response.

**I suppose I’ve nothing better to do other than hunting the bastard down, do I?**

 

*****

 

Arthur suffered through the community dinner that night, marveling in horror how much of the food served did not end up in people’s mouths (food fights seemed a regular occurrence, especially between Gilbert and Vash…who it seemed inevitably dragged Esther into it as well), and how ridiculously loud they all were.  He was a bit relieved when Alfred offered to give a tour of the ship with Seychelles, who also appeared to have had her fill of flying potatoes, even if it was a bit counter-productive (Arthur was cursing himself for not having more ‘fun,’ like his older brothers, in Berth…he should NOT be reacting like this just because the young man was attractive). 

Seychelles turned out to be just as entertaining as she was pretty (which was quite a lot) and her humor complimented Arthur’s own, even if he couldn’t contribute anything to the conversation.  Although, she did like calling him ‘Fuzzy-brows’ which Arthur wasn’t thrilled with…but still, it was better than what Alfred had kept on calling him, despite how many times Arthur wrote down (with an increasing amount of underlines each time) that his name was Arthur, not bloody ‘Iggy.’

“Iggy!” Arthur cringed and turned to face the blue-eyed youth, ignoring Seychelles soft laughter directed towards him (she had already deduced not only his damnable attraction to the young man but also how it was, and he was for that matter, driving him mad, much to his chagrin).  

**How many times must I say it, it’s Arthur you utter moron!**

Alfred just smiled at him playfully before he flicked him on the nose.  Arthur felt a swell of injustice at that act…injustice and butterflies but that wasn’t really important.  “Well, you’re really not ‘saying’ anything, are you, Iggy?”

Arthur growled silently before he stomped off, ignoring Seychelles half-hearted attempts to get Alfred to stop his teasing and Alfred’s chuckles as he followed after him.  He had already been shown most of the ship, even the brig which had smelled utterly vile and Arthur had wished he had not seen, and was now led back to the navigation room, which looked larger now that there weren’t nearly twenty people crammed inside.  Alfred shrugged off the leather jacket he seemed to wear around everywhere, revealing a pair of muskets, which he also shrugged off, collapsing in a chair while Arthur sat down much more civilized. Seychelles swept in and tossed off her long coat, looking at both of them with a critical eye (Arthur was having trouble not imaging what was under that patch).

“So now, what are we going to do with you?”  Seychelles leaned back and cocked her head to the side inquisitively.  “What did you do in Britannia?  What was your trade?”

Arthur scribbled on his black tablet.  **I owned my own book shop.**

Seychelles made a humming sound in the back of her throat, glancing at Alfred for a moment before she straightened up and pinned Arthur with her one eye.  “So, no manual labor then?”

Arthur glared at her and wrote, **I worked in my brother’s pub prior, doing plenty of manual labor.**

“Meh, you’ve got enough guys helping you out, ‘Chelles, I’m sure we can figure something else out.” Alfred winked at Arthur and he looked away with a huff.  Yes, he wasn’t the brawniest of men, but he could handle himself just fine…when you were a Kirkland, you learned to work with what you were given…Rhys had been huge.  “So, then, got any questions for us, Arthur?”

Arthur thought about it and nodded, taking a moment to write down his question, showing it to the young man when he was done.  He had been wondering it ever since nearly every crew member told him what Ivan had taken from them, but not one mention of it from his guide and the self-proclaimed leader and hero of the group.  He was curious…there had to be a reason, or else why would he even be here?  **What did Ivan steal from you?**

Seychelles cleared her throat and excused herself after Arthur picked up that he had possibly just asked a very personal question, if the look that came over Alfred’s face was any indication.  Arthur watched her leave before he looked back at Alfred, who laughed ruefully and tilted back in his chair, resting his muddy shoes on the table the light glinting off his glasses as they tilted down the bridge of his nose.  Arthur hated how fetching he looked like that.

“Yeah, guess I didn’t tell you, uh?  Well, Braginski took something from me too.  He took my strength, sure you noticed some of that when you met him.”

Arthur stared at the young man in disbelief before he wrote down his response.  **I’m sure I saw you punch the ground and create a small earthquake.**

Alfred chuckled and shrugged in a sheepish way.  “Yeah well…I still have some of it, I guess.  Not most of the time, just every now and then…kinda like how you could flatten out that mob without having to actually speak.  Most of the time I just don’t feel strain in lifting up heavy stuff, earthquakes are only for special occasions!”  He grinned and put his feet back on the ground. 

Arthur nodded softly before he scribbled down his next words (it was bloody annoying to have to do this every time he wanted to ‘say’ something).  **I tried to ‘say’ something earlier and nothing happened…**

“Yeah, it’s like heightened emotions or something that can trigger it, Kiku says.  Like, you were angry right?  And I was worried about everyone and a little bit concerned because those guys had pitchforks, so I could do a bit more…like I used to.”

Arthur nodded his head again in silent understanding (because he wasn’t going to write down ‘oh’…that would just be ridiculous), wondering just how strong the young man was prior to being attacked.  He spoke about this Ivan character with more anger and vitriol than the others, as if the man had done something worse than just stealing his strength and insulting his personal safety…Arthur was angry all right but he didn’t think the name as a curse.  He thought about asking why, but thought better of it.  He hardly knew this man, hardly knew anyone really…it wouldn’t be appropriate.  He bit his bottom lip and looked away, letting out a deep breath as he did so.

Alfred shook his head and smiled wide, tilting his head to the side and resting it in the cup of his palm, blue eyes twinkling merrily and making Arthur feel utterly foolish.  “I think we’re gonna pull into Gaul tomorrow, it’s where Francis is from you know, we can see about getting you some stuff.  I know you left pretty much everything behind when we busted you out and we can’t keep giving you ash’s spare stuff or he’ll go ballistic.”

Arthur nodded, willing away the slight tinge he felt creep up his neck at the attention.  **Thank you…I’ll find a way to repay you.**  

“Well, you can just dock it from your future wages if you’re so concerned,” Alfred smiled.  “Seychelles lets us borrow her ship but she still does her day job as a merchant, we all help out around here…we’ll figure out something for you.”

Arthur gave Alfred a look before he scrawled his response.  **Believe it or not, a bookkeeper can help in a variety of ways.  We read.**

Alfred laughed again.  “I guess so, huh?  Well…what do YOU think you could to help around here?”

Arthur hesitated and looked around the navigation room.  What could he really do?  Sure, he’d read a number of books of nautical origin and of oceans, but it was very likely any of these men and women knew just the same information from living it every day.  He wracked his brain for a moment, but then his eyes landed on a large map in the center of the room, various scribbling scattered around it, but mostly looking quite abandoned.  He recalled what they said regarding the captain, how she had been an unparalleled navigator prior to her run-in with Ivan…he wondered for a moment.  He had always been good with maps.

**If you’re in need of a navigator, I could help.**

“Really?”  Alfred looked surprised and contemplative at the thought, glancing at the map on the wall of the room before he looked back at Arthur.  “’Chelles could use the help, she’s been struggling ever since she was attacked…it came naturally to her before, she doesn’t like having to learn it all over again.  Do you know enough about different geographies and stuff?”

Arthur thought back to the numerous books he had read regarding other nations (in his deepest moments of rebellion when he thought if he stayed with his brothers any longer he’d become a murderer)…all about their cultures, landmarks, and most importantly, the routes and roads that connected them all together.  He smiled in a fierce manner, possibly the widest smile he’d had since his voice was stolen, and nodded his head in response.

**I can…and I can prove myself tomorrow if I can pick up a few extra things for this room.**

Alfred raised his eyebrows and nodded his forward in agreement.  He eyed him for another few moments, enough for Arthur to feel self-conscious with how pale he likely still was (he had not looked well that morning and that damn red band had been downright glaring) and his very Kirkland eyebrows.  Then, he stood up and smiled playfully at him, teasingly…Arthur hated it when he smiled teasingly and he still barely even knew him.  “Come on, it’s practically your bedtime!  Kiku said you’d still be lethargic and burnt out from everything, time for sleep, old man!”

Arthur looked up in offense.  **I am NOT old!  I’m barely older than you, you brat!**

“Well, you kinda act like an old man, it’d be easy to confuse you with one.”  Alfred had the audacity to smile at him as he bounded out of the room, picking up his muskets and coat after him.  Arthur fumed and stomped after him (he actually was quite sleepy), cursing that Ivan Braginski for taking away the only way he could combat teasing…it wasn’t like he could chuck the tablet at the idiot’s head with his retort…or maybe…

Arthur smirked and wrote down his insult hurriedly, chasing down the still laughing man and readying his aim.

 

*****

 

               They docked into the nation Gaul late afternoon the next day, Arthur gazing out at the rolling hills and dense forests in the distance with mild curiosity, comparing these lands with his own.  Britannia had plenty of grassy hills and forests as well, but it was darker in a way…richer and full of blues and dark greens; Gaul was a bit too bright for his tastes (that and it was home for Francis, who had proved in a very short amount of time just how much of a pervert he was…Arthur couldn’t stand him already).  Still, it was something he had only read about in books so it was interesting to finally see. 

Alfred departed with Gilbert, Francis and Rosa when they docked, yelling out that they’d be picking up supplies; he’d given Arthur a gentle smile before he’d left, which of course made the slighter man feel like a ruddy fool.  Esther, who had been assigned to accompany Arthur (otherwise known as baby-sit him), had simply looked at him in a knowing, teasing fashion as the group left before she dragged him along after her.  He was getting well and tired of being dragged every which place…he as a grown man, he could walk himself just fine.

“Now, we’re to get you some things to wear and some personal affects.  Also, I believe the captain wants to make sure you’re armed so a stop at the smithy is necessary…and Alfred mentioned something about maps?”

Arthur nodded and wrote down his response on the tablet.  **For navigation purposes.**

Esther nodded and guided him through the unfamiliar portside city, picking up various sets of clothing, some specific books and affects, and a set of short swords and weapon belt all in a timely and efficient manner.  What Arthur thought would last well into the night was over within the hour…though he felt quite drained by the time they arrived in front of a cartographer’s workshop.  She strode into the shop and barked at the wrinkled man in the native language, making the flowing, somewhat girly words sound like military code before she gestured for Arthur to pick out what he needed.  Arthur was grateful this operation had deep enough pockets to justify all these purchases…though it did make him feel like there was possibly something illegal going on.  Oh well, he had enough things to worry about without adding that to the list.

He grabbed a few maps of different terrains and trading routes along with some that covered sea routes; he grabbed some specific books as well along with charting string, tabs, and colored markers for pinning down spaces.  When he had everything rung up, he looked over at Esther and scribbled a question.  **Would you know where Ivan has shown up in the last few years?  Beyond the attacks on the crew and each of us?**

Esther thrust money at the old man’s face and gave him a contemplative look, helping grab some of his purchases (as he had quite a lot at this point) as they headed back to the _Evangeline_.  “I suppose so…we make it a point of trying to stop him, though often we don’t succeed.  Alfred and Seychelles keep a record of his appearances somewhere in the navigation room.  Why, may I ask?”

**Because you need to know a hive’s patterns before you can identify where it’s nest it.**

Esther shook her head and muttered something disparaging about metaphors.

However, Arthur did not lose confidence due to the woman’s lack of faith.  No, when he arrived back at the ship and deposited his new belongings in his modest cabin, he took all the map supplies straight to the navigation room and got to work.  Alfred and the captain did keep meticulous notes, which helped tremendously as he linked together places, events, attacks, and landmarks, highlight trade routes, travel paths, mountain ranges.  He pinned up the other maps he had purchased and made notations on various routes that connected to one another while copying down the incidents where Ivan attacked.

He was still in the middle of his project when the other arrived back, stopping and staring with Esther and Kiku in the doorway as they watched the silent, short, and generally grumpy young man create a very specific and detailed map of their world…complete with markers and connecting lines and potential hide-outs all concerning Ivan.  He looked back and smirked at the small crowd before he went back to adding notes and cross-referencing his maps with the notes in Alfred’s books, grabbing a pencil from behind his ear and scribbling neat notes along the side of a red marker in the middle of Gaul…labeled Francis.

Some of the crew paused and gaped while going about their duties, Seychelles pausing alongside Alfred and patting him gently on his shocked face.  “He’ll do just fine, I think.”

Alfred couldn’t help but agree.

 

*****

  
Rhys=Wales  
Seychelles=Seychelles (I like the sound of her name like that so it stays as is)  
Lily=Liechtenstein  
Alejandro=Cuba  
Rosa=Mexico


End file.
